thank you, clarity
by joker to the thief
Summary: She wonders if this girl was going to claw her eyes out or something. She looked like the type. God knows, she didn't have enough money for cosmetic work if she did.


**AN: **Okay, I literally have no idea where this came from. No song inspiration, no prompt, just pure weirdness. I hope you guys like it anyway.

* * *

She crosses her legs and surveys the dim interior of the bar. Amber light washes over her long chestnut brown hair, making it look even more lustrous, silkier. The little black dress she has on was one of her more impulsive purchases but it served her well, showcasing her long tanned legs and slim but curvy body. Oh yeah, she knows she looks good. Licking her red lips, she peers over her martini glass at the group of men in suits on one end of the bar. They've been eyeing her for the last 15 minutes and she grins to herself in triumph.

"Excuse me, miss," the bartender says, interrupting her thoughts as he slides over another martini in front of her. "This comes compliments of the gentlemen over there."

She arches her eyebrow and accepts the drink, raising it to the three men looking at her. They smile and one of them, the one with the shaved head, even gives her a wink. There's a few drops of Chanel no. 5 lingering in her cleavage for the lucky man among the three and she has a feeling it'll be the tall one today. Mmm, she always had a thing for blondes.

Just then, she feels a tap on her shoulder. With a practiced smile, she turns to greet what was most likely another admirer.

Instead of the middle-aged businessman she was expecting, she is surprised to see another woman - a petite brunette in red. Almost automatically, she takes in details of her "competition". Dark wavy hair, teeny tiny waist, long legs, no boob job obviously but some men preferred that. Not beautiful per se, (her nose was just a little too..._much_) but the kind of face that people would remember. With a begrudging sniff, she admits that this woman definitely has her beat on the wardrobe department; she recognizes that tiny strapless dress as the latest Marchesa (and way fucking beyond her budget). That's when she notices that the woman has been looking her over from head to toe.

She takes a drink from her glass and clears her throat pointedly. "Look, I'm flattered but I don't roll that way."

The woman merely ignores her. She's pretty sure she's actually talking to herself. "Well, I wasn't sure it was you but now that I see you, I'm quite certain—"

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" she interrupts, a little bitchily.

"Oh, my apologies, where are my manners? My name is Rachel Berry." The woman has on a bright smile as she offers her hand. "And you're Ashley, I believe." At her stunned stare, this Rachel Berry just nods and rambles on. "You don't know me - well, you would if you were the type of person who put more effort towards expanding her cultural horizons but then again you could be, I really shouldn't judge...maybe you've seen _Funny Girl_? Anyway, no, you don't know me but I certainly know you."

A calculating glance at Ashley and she smirks knowingly. "No, wait, that's not entirely true. I believe you know me through a mutual friend - Michael Carruthers."

_Michael Carruthers, Michael Carruthers, did she know any Michael Ca—_oh shit, she remembered now.

This Rachel person seemed to know when exactly she figured it out because she smiles brightly again and takes the vacant bar stool beside hers. "Oh good, you do remember. Yes, the woman who walked into his apartment that one night and started shouting about how she was his fiancée – that was me."

She cringes, remembering. A year ago, she had met Michael in a bar just like this one in Midtown. She was horny, he was hot enough, it was a foregone conclusion. They ended up at his place making the beast with two backs and okay, so maybe his skills weren't in keeping with his looks but she got off fine. She had then fallen asleep, planning to do her requisite walk of shame as soon as it was light out, but that plan was interrupted by this woman barging into the bedroom and well…all hell just broke loose. She had hightailed it out of the place as soon as she could.

She wonders if this girl was going to claw her eyes out or something. She looked like the type. God knows, she didn't have enough money for cosmetic work if she did.

"Okay, first of all, the whole thing was completely consensual. I didn't force him to do anything. _He_ came on to me. And second, boy didn't tell me that he was engaged so I'm just as much a victim here as you are."

Rachel ticks an eyebrow. "Really? And the photos of the two of us on the bedside table and my silk robe that you were wearing were what? Props?"

Well, she had her there.

"So what do you want? Are you here for some sort of revenge because I just want to remind you that we're in a public place and there are like a billion witnesses here," she states bravely.

Rachel takes a glance around at the practically empty establishment and smiles sardonically. "No, don't worry, I'm not here to claw your eyes out or maim your pretty little face. I just wanted...to say thank you."

"Excuse me?" she sputters out, mouth agape, martini long forgotten.

Rachel rolls her eyes and sighs. "Thank you. For the longest time, I thought Michael was what I wanted - the penthouse apartment, the Wall Street husband, the superficial trappings of a life - that I blinded myself to everything else. You didn't know it at the time but you were a much needed wake-up call. If it wasn't for your skewed moral compass and admittedly misguided actions, I wouldn't be where I am now. I would be stuck in a loveless and unhappy marriage to a man with an apparently long history of cheating. And I certainly I wouldn't be married to my best friend. A man I didn't even consider but who ended up being the man of my dreams."

At first, she is too shocked to notice that a man has approached them but a quick glance at him has her wondering how she could _not_ have noticed this tall, built, sinfully delicious god in a suit. Her throat is dry from a combination of shock and pure lust at the sight. But before she can say anything or deliver her signature 'come-hither' eyes, she is shocked again when he sidles up to this Rachel Berry and slings an arm around her waist.

The other woman's soft answering smile instantly transforms her face and Ashley is left wondering how she could ever have thought that Rachel was anything less than gorgeous.

"Hey, babe." Good Lord, even his voice, deep and husky in all the right ways, is enough to make her knees weak.

Rachel tips her face up to receive a kiss. "Hello, Noah. Oh, this is Ms. Ashley Anderson. Ashley, this is my husband, Noah Puckerman" she says, gesturing towards her. He turns to smile at her politely but doesn't even give her a cursory glance, his eyes only on the woman he had his arm around.

"Ready to go?" he asks.

"I'll be out in a minute. Why don't you wait for me in the limo?"

"Okay," he nods and kisses her again. He turns to her and says, "It was nice meeting you," before going out the door, leaving her speechless in his wake.

She turns back to see Rachel looking appraisingly at her. With a clap of her little hands, she smiles and stands up. "Well, this has been a splendid talk. It was lovely meeting you in more civilized circumstances, Ashley." With a positively evil glint in her eye, Rachel reaches over to her drink, taking the olive and popping it in her mouth with a grin. "I do hope we _don't_ do this again."

And with one final wave goodbye, she is gone. Ashley looks down at her near empty glass and back to the door through which the other two have left.

Yeah, she definitely needs another drink.


End file.
